A Bridge Between Two Worlds
by the house of the rising sun
Summary: Post-film. When discovered by SHIELD, the emotionally unstable Elizabeth Schaer is thrown into a world of excitement and danger. As the state of interplanetary conflict worsens, Schaer is forced to forget the life of addiction that she once knew, and fight with The Avengers. Banner/OC, rated for themes, language and violence.
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer: I don't own _The Avengers_.**

* * *

She's...

Special.

That's how her mother described it, when she picked up half the beach with one hand (at age nine). That's how her father described it, when she set her boyfriend's car on fire without matches or lighter fluid.

She was special. Not diseased. Not sick. Special.

Running in a hamster wheel, trying to convince the people behind the one-way glass that she'd been running for too long, Betty didn't feel special. She felt old and sweaty and tired. She glanced longingly at her handbag, stranded on a cold metal table. She wanted a cigarette.

They'd told her that any time she was too tired, she could stop running. But it was almost like a dare.

"We dare you to tell us you're too tired to run anymore." She felt her throat tighten as she poured on more speed.

"That's very good," an indiscriminate female voice told her. She shouted her thanks, and gasped for air. "Keep going. You're doing very well."

She was sure that none of the others had to do this kind of testing. They'd gotten in based upon reputation alone, while she had to bust her ass through boot-camp just to get noticed. This was the same testing they did on potential SHIELD agents, a spry SHIELD operative had explained. You get put through physical rigors, and then you're trained to make on-the-spot decisions.

What she would've given to have stayed in bed that morning.

"You can stop now, Miss Schaer, we've finished with you for now." the female voice said. She wheezed her thanks at the PA system, and promptly plonked herself onto the base of the wheel. She watched as the twentysomething female SHIELD operative came out from behind the one-way glass and handed her a bottle of water, smiling sympathetically.

"It does get easier, Miss Schaer." she said. Betty silently returned the nod, and guzzled about half of the bottle in one swig. _What chugging beer will teach you..._

"Betty Schaer?" An even female voice rang out from behind her. She turned slowly, achingly, feeling every tendon strain against bone. A hippy, short-haired redhead was moving toward her. She was dressed simply, in a red shirt and black trousers.

"The one and only." Betty replied. The redhead cracked a smile.

"I'm Agent Romanov. Welcome to SHIELD headquarters." Agent Romanov extended her hand for a quick shake. Betty took it warily.

"I feel like I'm in basic training," Betty said. "Did the others have to do all this?" Agent Romanov shook her head as they walked down the hall, passing busy people in SHIELD jumpsuits.

"You're something of an unknown commodity, Miss Schaer. We had to make sure you were physically and mentally stable, because the truth of the matter is, we don't know a thing about you." Betty was almost jogging to keep up with the lithe Russian, as she pushed past SHIELD operatives like they were daisies in a field.

"Well, that's good."

"Not for us, it's not."

They stopped at a chrome door at the end of a hallway filled with chrome doors. Agent Romanov nodded toward it.

"This is your stop." Betty raised an eyebrow.

"I don't get a debriefing packet or anything?" she asked. Agent Romanov shook her head.

"Go on in. Fury's expecting you." Without another word, she keyed in a number on the code key next to the door and headed briskly down the hall in the other direction. The door slid open, and with great doubt and worry, Betty walked inside.

* * *

It started when she was seven, but there were traces of it before then. Little incidents, unexplainable things. Her parents chalked it up to her brother messing about, and thought nothing of it. But when she was seven, she flooded the yard of their Brighton Beach home with water from the fire hydrant outside.

She was sitting on the front yard and playing dollies with her older brother-who indignantly flew his die-cast car through the air as though it was a superhero, and _refused_ to touch her Barbies-when she suddenly felt as though she was about to lift off, into the air. Her blood was electricity, blue and hot, making her hands tingle.

"Devon?" she was whimpering, unused to the strangeness of it. She felt herself starting to cry.

Her little hands seemed to rise of their own accord and point expressively at the hydrant. And suddenly it was overflowing, gushing, spraying water everywhere. She was screaming for help. Her brother had run inside to fetch his mom.

Since that day, it had happened more and more often, but not just with hydrants. Flames leaped near her, but never seemed to do her harm. The earth shifted where she did-she once spent a day making hills without even meaning to. When she was happy, the wind was soft and balmy and warm, rustling the trees gently and making little waves on Coney Island Beach. When she was angry or upset or depressed, it would suddenly whip into a frenzy and send everyone hiding in their houses. She'd blown out windows in office buildings with that wind-she'd leveled sand dunes. Thanks to her, Brooklyn had seen its first and _only_ tornado.

Then the "special" talk had come into play. She's special, her parents would explain, every time they had to pay tickets for property damage. Every time they had to separate her from the other children, because she was _literally spitting fire_ at them. She's special, they'd say. Our special girl.

She'd hated them for it. Not in a way that could be vocalised, but in a way that still made her think that, if they'd just turned her out, she'd have come out better than she bad.

She hated them, but Fury was staring at her, and there was no more time to think about it.

* * *

"Elizabeth Ann Schaer," Fury was reading from a manilla envelope as he paced about the room. She sat in a small, black leather chair, her hands folded in her lap. "Daughter of Dr Dierdere Gowan and Dr Abram Schaer, the biologists."

"That's mom and pop." she said, giving a halfhearted laugh. Fury didn't respond.

"A scientist yourself, I see. You work at a research and development lab for...Covergirl cosmetics."

"Yes sir, I do."

"You graduated from Boston University, magna cum laude. A biology major with a speciality of neuroscience. Impressive."

"Thank you."

"And you just so happen to be able to...what was it, exactly?"

She'd never given it a name, quite. It was just something that she did; her little talent. Her little secret.

"I'm able to...use all four elements at will."

Fury examined her with his one good eye, and for a moment it felt as though she was completely translucent. Like she wasn't even there. Finally, the corners of his mouth tugged into a strange smile.

"That's very interesting, Miss Schaer. Tell me more."


	2. Chapter 2

**Disclaimer: I don't own _The Avengers_.**

* * *

The recipe for getting through a morning without committing suicide was simple.

Step one: get out of bed by 1 PM. Step two: make yourself coffee and toast. Step three: spread jam on your toast, and add three shots of whiskey to your coffee. No sugar, that'll ruin it. Step four: drink the thick coffee-whiskey mixture as quickly as possible. Then, pop two oxycontin because your prescription hasn't run out yet, though it's not like the ladies at the pharmacy bother to check.

And why the hell not, right? It's _your_ life.

The reasoning fell a little short even in Betty's own mind at 9 AM on a Tuesday, but it didn't stop her from following the recipe to the letter. Except the oxycontin had run out (thanks to a three day binge that ended the previous morning) and the only remaining alcohol in her refrigerator was a lone Stella Artois in a battered six-pack.

It had been a very long weekend.

The only reason why she was up and about at 9 AM was that she had not slept the previous night. Something had been nagging at her for hours, and not even the couch, with its down throw-pillows and comfy fleece blanket had beckoned her. Not even television reruns until her head spun had allowed her, even for a moment, to close her eyes and rest.

She'd received it on Friday night; a letter she'd somehow always known she'd get, no matter how long she ran or how well she hid. She wasn't really surprised. They were SHIELD, not the CIA or FBI. _They have their crap together_, she thought shakily. _You can't argue with the people holding the guns_. The front was printed simply with her name and address: Elizabeth Schaer, 1760 E 103rd St, Apartment 1F, New York NY, 10022.

The worst of it was that the return address simply _was not there._ But Betty didn't need a name or postal code to know who it was from. Where a street name and apartment number should've gone, the SHIELD eagle was printed instead.

Betty had been trying to forget about it since she received it (dropped by a _courier_ of all things), but now, everything that she feared had become a reality. She'd run out of buffer and was still faced with a serious problem. She pulled the beer from the fridge door and opened it against the kitchen table. After about half of it, a cigarette, and a few deep breaths, she snatched the letter from the tabletop and ripped it open.

_To Ms. Elizabeth Schaer-_the letter read.

_We hope this letter finds you in good health. It's not often that we at SHIELD find a person with your special abilities that has gone unnoticed for so long. So it is in that vein that we must ask you to do us, and mankind, a service. Since we are now as aware of you as you have been of us, we must bring you to headquarters for a brief stay that will involve a few physical and mental tests, as well as a personal assessment of your abilities by one of our special agents to add to your growing dossier._

_However, we do understand that you may have a busy schedule that you would like to keep in tact. This week, we have arranged for you to take sick leave from your place of employment. Please report to Stark Tower for further instructions. You are to show this letter to the woman at the concierge desk. She will take you where you are required to go._

_Best,_

_N. Fury_

If she wasn't so terrified, Betty was sure she would've laughed. It all sounded so absurd-maybe the kid downstairs was playing a prank. But the kid downstairs had gone to college a year and a half ago, and this wasn't any prank. Her parents had warned her about these people-these men from SHIELD. Now she had to go in and face what she'd been running from for twenty-odd years.

* * *

"They'll try to find you," her mother had said it over dinner, as if it was the most normal thing in the world. "They'll kidnap you and try to run horrible tests on you. If there are ever men with the eagles on their lapels at the door, you're supposed to run." At ten years old, it was a terrifying thing to hear. _If there are ever men with eagles on their lapels, you're supposed to run._

A thirteen-year-old Devon watched his mother out of the corner of his eye, chewing his dinner carefully.

"Why do I have to run?" Betty asked.

"Because they'll do bad things to you. They'll take you away from home. Is that what you want?" Her mother was leaning over the table now, staring hard into her daughter's face. Betty shied from her gaze.

"No, I want to stay here."

"Good. We want you to stay here too. Now eat your supper." Her mother returned to her own plate, cutting and eating pieces of chicken daintily. Betty and Devon traded a glance over the table.

"Mom," Devon piped, around a mouthful of bread. "Why's she got to hide? Why are we treating her like a fugitive?"

"Because she's special, Devon."

"She's just Betty." he replied dourly.

"No, Devon," her father was intervening now, using that ringing voice that sent everyone to silence in half a moment. "She's not _just_ Betty, and you know that. She's different."

"I don't think she is." he said stubbornly, rising from his chair. "She's just the same as me. You're doing this all wrong." She could see her father's face getting red.

"Shut up and eat your dinner." her father barked. Devon seated himself. Betty kept her eyes on her plate and tried not to cry.

* * *

"That's very interesting, Miss Schaer. Tell me more."

"Don't you have it all on file?" she smirked. Fury remained stoic.

"We _do_ have all of your personal information in your dossier, but I'm talking more about the specifics of your powers. We'll need to put you in a combat situation to see how you'll perform." Betty's eyebrows knitted together.

"How intense is that "combat situation" to be, exactly? More importantly, how _exactly_ do you have _all_ of my personal information on file?" Fury shrugged.

"We'll start off easy, then advance. Simple as that. And as for your information, we're not the CIA or the FBI. We know everything, all the time. That's our _business_, and we will do it with or without your complete cooperation. Understood?" Betty pursed her lips into a hard line.

"Are you interested in our organization, or not?"

"I can't say that I am."

Fury chuckled.

"Well now, that's just too bad, isn't it?"


	3. Chapter 3

**Disclaimer: I don't own _The Avengers_.**

* * *

Before she had time to explain that superhero-ing wasn't really her "thing," Fury was hustling her down the hall, talking a mile a minute about what to expect during her combat trials. Don't do this, and don't _forget_ to do that, and by-the-way, don't even _think_ about doing the other thing.

Her head was swimming, trying to keep up with every rule and recommendation he was laying on her. She nodded mutely as he discussed aerodynamics and flame intensity and speed of creation of "elemental matter," as he called it. Betty didn't care. She wanted to be home, bored out of her skull with the TV tuned to BBC America, trying to get the cat to smoke a blunt with her.

"If you've got any questions, now's the time to ask." Fury said barked, as they reached an area that looked strangely open-air (made all the stranger by the fact that they stood in an armored flying aircraft carrier).

"No questions sir." besides the million and one queries that were racing around her brain like Tom and Jerry on wind-up cars, she wasn't lying, at the very least.

"Good. Doctor Banner will talk you through the rest." Fury said. With a quick shove, she was inside a large, spacious room with rotating fans over a high-tech looking cylindrical cage that was windowed on all sides. A man with greying brown hair and soft features used odd-looking tools to fiddle with a round piece that seemed to belong on the side of the door.

"Doctor Banner?"she asked hesitantly. The man turned and gave her a tired smile.

"Yeah, that's me. You must be..."

"Betty Schaer. Director Fury said-"

"Combat testing. Right?" She smiled at him.

"I guess so."

He gave a little shrug and left his tools on the rolling work table behind him.

"Okay. Get on in." She eyed the cage suspiciously.

"Into _that_?" the question was directed more at herself than at Banner, but he laughed all the same.

"It's really not that terrible. Go on, I'll help you up." He offered an arm to steady her as she threw a leg over the raised platform of the cage. She pushed off his shoulder and landed awkwardly on her knees.

"This floor's pretty hard," she said, her voice muffled by layers of glass. "I think I need knee pads." Banner laughed again-this gentle, little-boy kind of laugh that made her grin.

"Stay off it then," he shouted over his shoulder as he walked back to the control room. "That's the general point of this exercise anyhow."

"Right. Good to know."

She watched him as he sat behind a large control panel and adjusted his glasses.

"Alright, Miss Schaer-"

"I think Betty's going to be easier for both of us." She saw him smirk.

"Alright, _Betty_. You've got to use all four of the elements in every exercise, otherwise we consider it invalid and you pack your crap and go home. The workings of combat testing are simple enough to understand, but not quite so simple to actually put in practice." She heard the sounds of him keying things into the control panel as he spoke, saw him looking up every few seconds to make sure she was paying attention. "You just hit the target."

Betty waited.

"And?" She asked.

"And nothing. You just hit the target."

"That's...anticlimactic." She said, somewhere in her heart, genuinely disappointed. Banner chuckled softly.

"What, did you think we were going to send the Minotaur after you?"

"Maybe not the Minotaur, but at least the Sphinx or _something_." she retorted.

"Nothing in the vein of ancient Greece here I'm afraid," he said, mocking apology. "But we've got a couple of tricks up our sleeve. Don't count us out yet."

With that, Banner pressed a few keys on the panel and suddenly, the cage began to shake. A lone SHIELD operative dropped in, seemingly from nowhere (she would later find that Banner had outfitted the vents so that they could both circulate air _and_ hide a dozen or so SHIELD operatives per), carrying nothing.

"Your first task is to hit the target. Immobilize him."

She reviewed the trained SHIELD agent with a look that she was sure was something like utter terror.

"I don't think I can-" She was cut off by a rabbit jab to the jaw. She tipped backward and stumbled, knocking against the cage's walls like a sack of potatoes. After a moment of recoup, she glared at the operative, who'd begun to repose in an easy stance. She felt the electricity in her blood again, as bright and violent as the first time she'd ever felt it. The air in the cage started to heat up and whip around. Suddenly, the SHIELD operative looked somewhat nervous.

"I get it now," she said, spitting blood into the roaring wind. "Hit the target."

* * *

Banner had never seen anything quite like it.

He'd been through a combat test himself-way back when, in the days when it was just Bruce and the Other Guy-but even he wasn't as powerful as she was. The poor operative was trying to get to her to throw punches and kicks, but she would subdue him with blasts of water or ice or fire before he could even get close. At one point she'd made the wind so strong that she'd torn up bits of the floor and pelted them at her opponent. Then, she (somehow) froze water in midair as it passed to slam into his feet and encase them in seven or eight inches of ice. He finally dropped to his knees and shouted to Banner, hoarse from the wind: "I give up, sir!"

She looked leaner now than before. It seemed that her eyes had sunken into her head, but they were gleaming and bright.

"Can you melt the ice for him real quick, Betty?" Banner asked. She nodded, and without even moving her hands, the ice became two puddles under his boots, and she was looking up at him from the cage like an expectant child waiting to be told that she'd done well. He stared at her from the control room, half stunned and almost gleeful.

"How'd I do?" she asked.

"Better than the people who come through here usually do." That was a ridiculously vast understatement. She'd done fantastically well; even when she'd almost drowned her sparring partner with approximately sixty gallons of water to the face in the form of a giant fist. Banner somehow found himself feeling weirdly proud of her; like she was a good friend who'd finally accomplished one of her nearest and dearest goals.

She clambered out of the cage and righted her clothes, smiling broadly at no one in particular. Suddenly she was more alive than she had been in weeks-the proverbial spring was back in her step. She suddenly wasn't bogged down by the cigarette sludge in her lungs, or the cocktail of prescription drugs (probably heavy on downers) in her blood. She was a new woman.

"I have to report to Fury," said Banner, hands in the pockets of his grey slacks. "About your test."

"Did I pass?" she asked. He chuckled.

"It doesn't exactly work that way. But you did well." Betty and Banner began moseying up the hall to the bridge, where Fury surely could be found.

"What does that mean for me, exactly?" Banner stopped short and looked sidelong at her over his shoulder.

"Fury didn't tell you?"

"No one told me anything." Betty replied slowly. Banner's lips twitched as he looked between her and the papers he'd attempted to take notes on.

"Maybe it'd be best if you asked Fury-"

"What about?"

"What..._acceptance_ would mean for you..."

"Wait...no one told me this was an _application_-" The cigarette sludge and downers came back, screaming, into her internal organs. She backed away from Banner, whose expression was suddenly something in between worry and fear.

"Betty, please," he said quietly. "Let me just explain. Just relax and let me explain what's going on."

"Do it quick, Banner." she said, feeling the heat of a lick of flame building in her palm. Banner took a deep breath, and started talking.


	4. Chapter 4

**Disclaimer: I don't own _The Avengers_.**

* * *

Banner didn't like her when she was upset. It was sort of like having to deal with a petulant five-year-old, but somehow totally and utterly worse.

He'd tried to explain to her that Fury had been secretly rebuilding the Avengers Initiative Program, and was looking for people all over the world with "special abilities" to add to his roster. When that didn't seem to help her perception of things, he'd tried explaining that she wasn't being _forced_ to do anything, or work for anyone. But no matter what he said, she was standing with her hands balled into fists, giving him the same blankly enraged stare no matter how hard he tried to make her understand.

"I don't want to be part of this...Jesus Christ, I don't even want to _be_ here," she said, sounding rather strangled. "I'm going home." She turned on her heel and was power-walking down the corridor before Banner had a moment to process what was going on.

"Hey, hang on a second," he called at her retreating back. "What about Fury? The report I have to make?"

"Make it yourself, I'm leaving." she replied. He jogged after her and made a grab for her wrist. She retracted it with a hiss, as though his touch was like acid on her skin.

"Look, I'm sorry this is upsetting to you, but you've got to face facts. You're powerful-_really_ powerful. And if you think you're the only person who knows about your little ability, think again. I guarantee you, the only reason why the military and the government and a dozen other special-agent organizations you didn't know _existed_ aren't abducting you from wherever it is you're living is _because_ of SHIELD." Her face was a mess of concern-all dark circles and worry lines and creases between knitted eyebrows.

"I really don't think that's true." she replied.

"I didn't think it was either, till I figured out that SHIELD faked my death for the CIA so that they wouldn't search for me once I left the country." Betty seemed to consider that for a moment, but after that moment, looked down at her feet.

"D'you know where a girl can get a cigarette around here?" she asked.

"Come in with me to see Fury," Banner said, gentler than usual. She crossed her arms and, for a moment, regarded him with hard green eyes. "It's not going to kill you."

"Not yet, anyway." she spat. He pursed his lips.

"Come on." she sighed deeply.

"Fine, I'll come. But if it takes longer than fifteen minutes, I'm leaving." she said. Banner smiled and put his hand between her shoulder blades to steer her back to the bridge.

"You're not gonna regret this." he said.

"That remains to be seen." she replied.

* * *

Fury looked over Banner's notes for a long time before looking at either one of them. When he did speak, it was not directed at them, but a call for Tony Stark over his little earpiece, followed by a five minute period of silence, during which time Banner and Betty traded several rather confused glances.

"Director Fury, I-" Fury cut Betty off with a wave of his hand.

"Wait a moment, Miss Schaer. If you would." She pressed her lips together and concentrated her hands, folded tightly in her lap. She heard Banner let out a lengthy sigh.

"Hey guys, sorry I'm late to the party. Nick, you're looking...menacing. Banner, good to see you." Betty heard heavy footfalls and a flat, jesting voice. Fury and Banner both stood and took turns shaking Stark's hand.

"Miss Schaer, this is Tony Stark-I'm sure you've seen him on television. Stark, this is Betty Schaer." Stark looked at her up and down twice before turning back to Fury.

"I'm not convinced," he said. "I mean...she's pretty and all, granted. But can she really spar with the rest of us? Don't think so." Betty said nothing.

"She's very powerful, Stark," said Banner, pointing rather excitedly at his notes. "I've never seen anything quite like it."

"Yeah, well, Banner, a girl who's not your waitress talks to you for more than two minutes, you get a little hazy. I'm not buying it just yet, buddy, no offense." Stark retorted.

"None taken," Banner spat. "And if you're really unconvinced by her, why don't _you_ fight her?" Stark snorted.

"Um, because I don't want to break her in half?"

"Frankly, Tony, I don't think you'll be able to get close." Banner replied smoothly. Betty was secretly a tad bit grateful that Banner was sticking up for her, even if she'd said perfectly frankly before hand that all she'd wanted to do was go home.

"Okay," Stark turned to face her, and crossed his arms. "That okay with you?"

"I'm not terribly fond of the idea. And besides, I really don't want to hurt you, Mister Stark," Betty replied, her voice coming out rather smaller than she'd meant it to. Stark laughed again.

"Look, I would be worrying about myself if I were you." he said. "You got a suit? Old SHIELD uniform ought to do for you. If you get this, we'll figure out something more lasting."

"Um...well, alright." she said warily.

"Great. Suit up, and I'll see you on the deck in ten." he replied, smiling at Banner and then back at her. She could feel her stomach sinking as he strode away.

"I really am going to lose miserably." she said to Banner, as fury called Hill over to get Betty's measurements.

"No, you're going to win, actually."

"How d'you know?"

"Because he thinks you're going to lose. Not only are you immensely powerful, Tony's luck with Murphy's Law is pretty much laughable."

* * *

Stark was in the air above the flight deck when he saw her fly up to meet him. She was dressed in an old SHIELD jumpsuit, the little eagle patch either ripped off or missing.

"Cool, you're here. Ready?" he asked. She nodded.

"Okay. G'bye." he said. With that, he aimed and fired a blast that sent her careening into the nearest cloud bank. Stark chuckled. This really was going to be easy. He landed on the deck and sauntered over to the edge of the flight deck to look for her, and was met with a fireball seven times his size. He just barely dodged it as it roared off into the sky-felt the heat of it singe and burn his armor. A half-second later, and the suit wouldn't be the only part of him that was burning. He set his lips in a hard line and dug in.

"So I guess this wasn't as easy as I thought it was gonna be."

He pushed off and made a high arc in the sky before he swan-dove after her, firing dozens of little blasts. Somehow, though, she was deflecting all of them. She'd put up a wall of water (in which they'd dissolve or slow, considerably), then use the air currents to turn his blasts around on himself. He was hit with his own blasts more than he was hit with anything she'd thrown at him.

He managed to dodge the row of icicles that she'd sent his way, but was too slow, even in his suit, to deal with a few white-hot fireballs, and a long stream of ice-cold water. He was hit three times with the former, and only needed to be sprayed once with the latter to realise what was going on. She was _warping_ his suit.

"Sir," said Jarvis. "I'm detecting that our top two thrusters may be going offline soon."

"What? Why?"

"There's too much fluctuation in the metal, sir. It was not designed to withstand temperature change so quickly."

"Crap."

"Indeed, sir."

Stark landed on the flight deck, she followed right behind and tried to drop-kick him, but moved too slowly. He grabbed her ankle and brought her down hard against the concrete.

"FUCK!" She screamed, kicking at the iron gloves.

"Ah. See Banner, I told you she wouldn't be-"

Suddenly his palms were heating up. When he looked down at her, he realised that she'd wrapped her limbs, somehow, in huge licks of flame, and was building their heat. The one that was wrapped around her legs was so hot, it was blue. He was beginning to feel burning inside his suit.

She'd wrapped him in licks of fire too.

_Crap oh crap fuck god dammit shit-_

"Tony, get out of there!" Banner shouted in his ear.

"Uh, working on it!" Stark replied, fighting as hard as he could. She was doing real damage to the suit at this point-the navi-com and guidance positioning systems were both blinking red, and the extra toys like the phone, internet, iPod, and Kindle/Nook alloy had all been shut down.

With a short cry, she managed to flip him and slam him against the deck. She was breathing hard, bleeding from a few places. For a second, she didn't care about Stark, or if he was alright, and touched the place in her mouth where blood was pooling.

"Shit," Stark coughed, standing up and groaning. "Okay, she's pretty good."

"I told you," Banner spat into his ear. "Are you alright?"

"Yeah. I might need an ice pack or two though, considering I've probably got a few third-degree burns on me now."

"Is _she_ okay?" Banner asked, somewhat hesitantly. Stark reviewed her over his shoulder for a moment, as she spat watery blood in a stream.

"Unattractive, but alive." he said.

"Thank christ." Banner muttered.

"Thanks for the concern, Bruce, I really needed it." Stark spat.

"You're always fine." Banner replied.

"Yeah, yeah. Whatever."

* * *

She sat, cross-legged with an ice pack on her left eye and a cigarette in her right hand. There's tepid coffee on the little little table that she's not interested in. She sucked hard on the filter.

"Jesus," she sighed, through a mouthful of smoke. "Your pal packs a wallop." Banner smirked, a little shy.

"Yeah, Tony's pretty tough." he said. "You sure you're alright?"

"Really, I'm fine. A couple of molars loose, but no harm done." Banner pursed his lips-she laughed.

"Hey, Ed Norton got away with it in _Fight Club_."

"This is real life." said Banner.

"Yeah. Sad, isn't it?" she said. Banner shrugged and stood up, handing the untouched coffee to the nearest SHIELD operative. Betty ashed her cigarette onto the floor.

"Can I take a look at your eye?" he asked. She nodded and took another drag, taking the ice pack away from her face. Banner grimaced. It wasn't as bad as it could've been; not so much swollen as discolored. The lid and underside were a brilliant shade of reddish purple.

"I think I might have a salve for it." he said. She waved him away.

"Don't bother. It'll be fine in a couple of days. I heal fast."

"Is that another virtue of your little ability?"

"No, just good luck. Really Doctor Banner, I'll be fine." she said, smiling up at him. "Thanks."

Banner suddenly felt the tiniest bit warm. He unbuttoned the top of his collar and cleared his throat. She put her cigarette out on the arm rest of her chair and promptly lit another one.


	5. Chapter 5

**Disclaimer: I don't own _The Avengers_.**

* * *

He was so tempted to try and find her. So tempted to use wireless cameras to try and watch her, to see what she'd been doing. It'd been three days since Fury had dropped her at her home, saying "we'll call you."

Banner had watched her through her cell phone the whole time.

He was doing it again now-gazing rather shamefacedly through her computer as she typed emails to her colleagues at Covergirl's research and development department and watched videos of cats on YouTube-from his new apartment near Stark Tower. Since the whole mess with Loki had blown over, and Fury had started branching out-trying to find people who could be supplementary to the original Avengers response team-and since midtown Manhattan was more or less rebuilt, Tony had given Banner the apartment, mostly because he felt terribly sorry for the only one of their little group that didn't have a place to go back to.

Natasha and Clint had each other, Tony had billions of dollars and Pepper, Thor had his brother and Asgard, and even Rogers had found a little job downtown, working at a florist's. While Banner was technically employed at Stark Enterprises, it was really a titular job only. Tony would've given Banner a check for half a million dollars, bi-monthly, whether Banner did a lick of work or not.

So Banner was watching her at three in the afternoon, typing emails and smoking cigarettes, and getting up every few moments to cook a half a panful of eggs to feed to the cat or making pots of coffee to guzzle and piss out. It was like watching her life cycle happen and end a hundred times over.

He was utterly captivated.

He told himself it was because he was a scientist. Because he enjoyed watching life cycles, be they human or sea sponge, or anything in between. Because she was pretty self-destructive, and she was making a mess of her life. And really, it was somewhat comforting to know that someone was fucking everything up worse than he was. That's the only reason.

He'd thought about calling her for coffee a few times, but he'd never been able to pick up the phone. He'd dial, then think about it, then hang up. Because there was no _reason_ to call, it'd be social. And he didn't do well with social, for more reasons besides the obvious, green monstery one. He wasn't _good_ at having friends. Stark was the exception-possibly because they were as maladjusted as each other, and that was just maladjusted enough to be weird without being terribly confusing. Stark was the exception because there was a mutual sort-of hatred, peppered with strangely supportive moments. Having normal people as friends was damn near impossible.

Though he supposed, as he watched her make herself her third mojito of the afternoon, "normal" was not exactly what he was looking at.

* * *

She didn't often think, but when she managed, momentarily, to break out of the haze of Percoset and Patron, she thought of him.

He was the only one who had actually thought she could be successful, even if she didn't want to be, at joining their little team. He treated her as though she was an extremely valuable commodity, and though she knew she wasn't, it was somehow still nice to be told that she was. She didn't need to be a princess, just a valuable person. Someone who was, at the very least, somewhat important.

She didn't feel anxious around him. Didn't feel wrong or strange or out of place. She almost felt human.

Judy Garland warbled onto her iTunes shuffle, suddenly clawing her way into Betty's heart. _Stop it_, she thought to herself. _Stop._ She poured herself another half-glass of rum and downed it in an instant, as though she was hoping enough alcohol would eventually stop Judy Garland's voice from working its magic, as though she could suppress and forget.

She really did almost feel human around him. As though there was something about being with people who were as abnormal as she was, that somehow made her feel like a person again.

Judy started crooning the first notes of "The Man That Got Away" and despite the fact that she was only three mojitos and a half-glass of rum into her day, she felt herself shedding tears of frustration. She sat down hard on her couch and slammed her computer shut.

* * *

_Ring ring._

_Ring ring_.

"Hello?"

Banner suddenly felt as though someone had a heel on his throat.

"Hello...?"

"Betty," he spluttered. "It's...Bruce. Banner."

"Oh. Hi."

"Hi."

"...How are you?"

"Alright. You?"

"Okay."

"Good."

"I guess so."

There was a long silence between them. He was relatively sure he could hear her sniffling. He had to admit, he was a softie when it came to Judy Garland himself.

"Any reason why you're calling me Doc?"

_Ah yes. Good that you didn't think of anything before all of this Banner. Wing it. Brilliant. Tell her: "we should go out for coffee sometime. We're two freaks. We're perfect for each other." She'll love it_.

"Just wanted...to check in on you is all."

"Well, I'm fine."

"Well...fine." Banner was taken aback. Except...he wasn't. How did he honestly expect this conversation to go?

"Betty," _now or never, asshole_. "How about coffee?"

"What?"

"Coffee. You and me."

She waited to answer for what could've easily been three or four days. Left him dangling in the air by a thread-by one hand. He felt his three other limbs sway in the breeze created by fifty-a hundred-miles of terrifying, terrible distance.

"Okay. Sounds nice."

He exhaled. All was right with the world. He hadn't messed up to the point of no return yet.

"See you tomorrow?" he asked her.

"See you then."

Banner hung up the phone and spent the rest of the day hiding his smile from Stark.


	6. Chapter 6

**Disclaimer: I don't own _The Avengers_.**

**Author's note: There's a little guesswork in this chapter involving Thanos (the purply guy who the Other was talking to), if anyone saw that scene post-credits, and what the Avengers do about him that's going to be important to the rest of the plot.**

* * *

"What is it that's coming up red on my screen, Hill?" Director Fury shouted over his shoulder. Everything was going horribly, horribly wrong. They were falling from the sky like a rock heading for the ocean-three engines down and a good bit of the hull sailing toward the earth in a majestic arc.

"It looks like Loki, sir," Hill screamed, trying to cling to the metal rail that separated her from life and being sucked into the great gaping hole that was once the lower deck. "Loki's come back with a better army!" Fury glanced out of the window and sucked the back of his teeth. The ship that was coming at them was huge and black, save for the window paneling that betrayed the Norse god of mischief and another thing-called only a "thing" for want of understanding of its true nature. It was not a man, though in its physique, there were many reminiscencies of a man. It had the body of a man, and seemed to move as a man would. But its skin was purply, and its face resembled a terrifying kind of craggy rock face.

And what was even more terrifying than that, was that Loki's face, from what Fury could see, was set in an expression that resembled a mixture of terror and horrible resignation very, very closely.

"Abort mission," Hill was screaming until her voice was hoarse, as SHIELD agents scrambled for parachutes and life-vests. "Repeat, abort mission! Abandon ship!" Several operatives had their parachutes on, and jumped through the hole in the lower deck. Others packed what were colloquially termed as "lifeboats," but were more like mini-jets, and zoomed off after the giant obsidian block that hung in space. Fury watched as they were swatted like flies.

"We are getting _killed_ up here!" Fury shouted.

"I'm aware, sir!" Hill replied, climbing hand-over-hand across the floor, to reach the director.

"Is everyone out?" He asked.

"Everyone that I can tell! I have your parachute here sir!" she shouted, handing him a backpack as she simultaneously shrugged on her own. They linked arms and slipped through the hole in the lower deck together, their parachutes opening at the same time about thirty miles below.

* * *

It wasn't going terribly, thought Banner. There were worse ways that this little...what? Date?

Sure. Why not. Throw caution to the wind.

Their "date" wasn't going terribly. She'd even laughed at some of his jokes-though granted, her laugh was thin and reedy and tinged with a cough that, if unattached to her, would've made him deeply uneasy. Betty had a few little tics-nothing strange, nothing involving twitching or shouting obscenities. She packed her cigarettes on the table even when she wasn't smoking them, and smiled at him-closed mouthed-when she thought he wasn't looking.

Whenever he caught her smiling, there was something like a spark in her dull eyes. It wasn't perfect-perhaps it simply wasn't realised yet. But it was there nonetheless.

It really hadn't been going terribly, for a good hour and a half (four coffees and two cookies in). In fact, it really had been going pretty well, considering the hilariously high probability that their relationship had for being insanely destructive. He'd found out some of the little things-she liked film noir and Marlboro Reds, and she was trying to move out of the shithole that was the apartment she paid twenty five hundred a month for. It hadn't been going terribly. But of course, things couldn't stay that copacetic, ever.

The roof of the coffee shop suddenly plummeted in on them, and Banner saw, out of the corner of his eye, a fleet of black ships filling the Manhattan skyline. Betty couldn't stop a scream from tearing out of her throat as feet of sheeting and concrete pelted her and Banner.

"What the fuck is going on!" she screamed. Banner grabbed her by the wrist and bolted for the door. Betty fumbled for her phone and mashed buttons as she ran, trying to dial the one person who might have some vague idea of what was happening.

"Hey sugar pie, what's up? Banner getting a little heavy again?" She rolled her eyes and jogged toward the nearest subway entrance, Banner in front of her.

"Cut the comedy, Tony," she spat. "We have an issue."

"Is it...performance related? Because I don't really want to hear about you and Bruce in bed-"

"Jesus!" she screamed, dodging falling debris. "Tony, just listen okay? Stop being an asshole for two goddamn seconds."

"No promises."

"There's a huge flying something over the city and-"

"Wait, what?"

"It's like a huge, black rectangle."

"Where are you right now?"

"Sixteenth and University Place. It looks-oh god. Tony, it's destroyed everything. It's tearing up the streets somehow...no ones safe, not even in the subways."

It was true. The ship had ripped fourteenth street off the map like a bandaid.

"Fuck," Banner breathed. "Look at that." his hand was shaking and pointing toward the sky, a look of utter dread on his face. The sun was being eclipsed by black, rectangular ships. They were everywhere. A voice came from the one nearest to the ground, to utter a simple directive:

"I am Thanos. Surrender or die, humans." It seemed that all of downtown, as a collective, screamed as long and as loud as it could.

...


	7. Chapter 7

**Disclaimer: I don't own _The Avengers_.**

* * *

They'd been walking the subway tunnels for hours, finding larger groups of people the farther uptown they went. There were wounded and dead mingling with the live and terrified; people already trying to form groups and take charge, and whatnot. Banner and Betty stayed together, trying to give as much assistance as possible without the benefit of having any equipment. Banner did a few makeshift medical procedures: he cleaned a shrapnel with rubbing alcohol and bandaged it with a woman's headscarf, and stitched an open cut on someone's head with a sewing needle-thank god the city was full of smokers, and so many people had lighters to sterilize that sewing needle with-and dental floss. Betty broke into abandoned snack stands and distributed snacks, turned off signals so that no trains could run, and began helping people set up temporary camp on the platforms and in the tracks.

At every station they went through they spent at least twenty minutes trying to comfort the children who'd had to hide and did not know where their parents were. For awhile they even had a few strays following them, but they, one by one, dropped behind due to exhaustion, hunger or thirst. Banner and Betty were alone for much of that walk along the green line, trying to talk out what had happened. Trying, to some degree, to understand what was going on beyond the simple: "well, the city's getting destroyed again." At 77th street, the number of people hiding in the tunnels was dwindling, and the noises aboveground didn't sound so much like an all-out war was being waged.

"Do you want to go up?" he asked her as they dragged themselves from 77th to 86th.

"Not really, but I have a feeling we should."

"Yeah," he said, pursing his lips. "We should call Stark."

"I was thinking the same." she replied, looking over at him. "Great minds, huh?"

"Sure," he said. "Why not."

They walked to the 86th and Lex stop before they clambered out, crawling over debris and around stairs that had been blasted to rubble. When the two of them had finally gotten to the top step, they reviewed, with a growing sense of terror, what the black ships had done to the city in a matter of hours.

Everything was at a standstill. Cars were parked all over the sidewalk-some in shop windows-and had been abandoned. The traffic lights blinked silently overhead. Buildings had enormous chunks ripped out of them-she looked over her right shoulder and saw that the Lipstick Building, or what was left of it, was missing about forty of its impressive fifty two floors-and the streets themselves looked as though someone had bombed them out. 95th was three quarters of the way ripped out, the concrete-asphalt cocktail doing an impressive reach for the sky.

"Goddamn." Banner muttered, trying to take it all in at once. Betty felt tears of frustration welling fast behind her eyes.

"Fucking Christ," she wailed, slamming a car door closed. "Look at it, Bruce."

"I haven't exactly got my eyes closed." He replied.

"What the _fuck _are we gonna do?" she cried. She was almost sobbing; the tip of her nose red and her cheeks blotchily flushed. Banner jogged over to rub her upper arms-really, to stop her from swinging them so violently back and forth.

"Hey, hey. Relax, Betty, we're going to be okay. This all is going to be okay." he made a large, all-encompassing gesture that somehow made Betty cry harder.

"Fuck, _fuck_!" she wailed. "You don't understand."

"What don't I understand?" he was desperately trying to calm her. The cynic inside him wondered, briefly, if this was how bad _he_ was before he Hulked out.

"You don't...Bruce, this is my _home,_ okay? You've been all over the place, doing crazy stuff and being important, but this is my _home_. I grew up here, I live here, my _mom_ lives here. My brother is buried in Brighton, fuck's sake, I will _die_ here! What the fuck even _were_ those things? One of them blew up downtown-and we saw a fucking _fleet_ on fourteenth street. We are _fucked_." she was rambling and crying, collapsing a little against him. Her breathing was heavy.

"We're going to get them out," he promised. "Whatever they are. They're going to leave, I swear. Even if we have to get the Avengers Initiative back on track." She laughed a high, bitter laugh, but there was something in the way that she looked at him for half a second that was thankful. Even if the promises were empty, hearing them was better than hearing the truth.

And for once, to Banner, they _were_ the truth. She threw her arms around his neck and pulled him close, burying her head in the crook of his neck. Banner pressed the side of his face against her hair and breathed her in. He felt a peculiar tightness in his chest, that he was almost sure had nothing to do with the smoke coming off the streets, and the dust and rubble that was everywhere.

* * *

"We've leveled the city, nearly," Loki said carefully, looking at the man with purple skin. "Do you think now might be a good time to...give them a chance to surrender?" He made no reply, just looked the god of mischief up and down with the kind of stare that would've made lesser men tremble in their tracks.

"You are young, Loki," said Thanos smoothly. "You have yet to understand the true joys of rulership."

"I would like to _have_ a world to rule, instead of a pile of rubble." Loki spat back. Thanos chuckled darkly.

"And you shall; a world you can shape yourself with no thought of petty rebellions or unruly subjects. Is that not better than trying to bring the dreks to you?" Thanos almost cooed, walking slowly from one end of the windowed ship to the other. Loki's teeth sunk into his lower lip.

"I do not want to...to kill them _all_." he said, almost boyish in his whispering.

"We shall not kill them _all_," replied Thanos. "But a few, however stupidly or unfortunately, will die for this puny, desolate rock."


	8. Chapter 8

**A/N: Sorry for the long delay guys. I've been going through some difficulties recently, but now I'm back!**

**Disclaimer: I don't own _The Avengers_.**

* * *

**Four Months Later**

Banner dreamed of her as he always did-those sickening moments as he watched them take her away. They'd been hiding out in her apartment for three months before they'd found her; the toothy, salivating Chituari and their horn-helmeted king. A pack of them kicked her to her knees and dragged her out the front door while another four restrained him and kept him doubled over in pain to distract him from anger, and from the Other Guy.

She screamed his name three times, dragging her heels, and clawed wildly at the air. Her face was contorted into a hideously pained expression and was covered in tears. They dripped from her chin thinly, like a gentle drizzle.

"BETTY." just once, the roar tore from his chest like an angry bear, and despite the pain and the ribs that he could practically _feel_ cracking, he knew the Other Guy was waking up. The Chituari guard that held him must've known as well, because one of them screeched in Chituari to the others, grabbed its gun and pistol whipped him. Temple throbbing hard, he dropped to his knees and passed out. When he awoke, the apartment was dark and cold. He could hear his upstairs neighbor crying, and half wanted to join her.

In the dream, he was kissing her-not that he'd ever kissed her, much to his chagrin-and it was _brilliant_. She was pressed to him from head to toe, grinning against his mouth and lazily combing her fingers through his hair. He was on fire. He was so in love. But suddenly, she was gone, and he stood in her empty apartment while he watched the Other Guy die in a crater on the street. The Other Guy reached a huge green arm to Banner, his face pained. And then he just _died_, and Bruce found himself to be eight years old and crying on a mossy grave that he knew, somehow to be Betty's...

He woke with a gasp, sweating and shaking, already aching from the unforgiving floor of the apartment. He'd long since gotten rid of the furniture-scraped the place clean, of anything that smelled, or reminded him of her. After she'd gone, he knew he couldn't live-couldn't even breathe and see those things on a daily basis. So he stripped the walls of her papering, scrubbed until he couldn't smell the cigarettes anymore. He'd kept the mattress but ripped apart the bedframe, and converted her room into something of an operating theatre. Most people knew of him-knew that he'd give treatment without asking for much in return. Some materials for a meal. A bottle of wine.

"Meager" had become his middle name.

After the war, the Avengers Initiative had dropped off the map. SHIELD, by all accounts, had been disbanded. Thor was missing in action, as were Agents Barton and Romanov, and to put it the way Stark did after a long night of drinking and discussion: "Look-there's not much a man, a tin can and the Other Guy can do without the other pieces of the puzzle." Rogers had loudly denied him, but Banner knew he was right. The three of them wouldn't so much as make a dent in the forces of the Chituari, and when the three of them were killed or maimed, there would be no one to bring down Loki, much less the purple beast that had spoke to lower Manhattan as he destroyed it.

When Betty was taken, Rogers was gone too. The rumor was the one-time supergroup known as "The Avengers," and any known associates, were being taken and executed. It made Banner sick to think of it. Stark had gone underground, offering Banner a research laboratory and a place to keep busy while formulating some semblance of a plan, but he knew he'd have gone crazy, and so politely declined. It broke his heart to have to cut off communication with his good friend, but he knew it was for the best.

Not long after, he started raiding the empty shells of pharmacies and hospitals for medical supplies, and ripped apart what was left of Betty's apartment. Soon, the word was all over the city, and he had at least twenty patients a day. Most came and left, but the few that were too wounded to leave, or who were breathing their dying breaths slept in the living room, on sofa cushions that he'd stolen from abandoned apartments on that floor. He'd yet to go through the whole building-her apartment was on the second of a nine-floor building over what was once a noodle shop, and the higher he went, the more unstable the building became.

His hands trembled as he staggered to his feet and struggled to the kitchen, lighting and losing several matches from the cardboard book in his pocket along the way. At long last, he got to the little counter and lit the candle that sat there. The hand that did not grasp the taper felt slowly from cabinet to cabinet, at last closing around a flaky roll that he remembered being given in exchange for six aspirin tablets, three days ago.

He bit into it and moved slowly to the terrace, blowing out the candle as he did so. The city lay beneath him, lights stuttering at best, and half destroyed.

Banner finished the roll, and sat down heavily, the bitterness of the breeze readying him for the long day ahead.

* * *

White light.

Pain.

_Bruce..._

Zzt.

"AAH," she screamed again, writhing on the slab she'd been tethered to. "FUCK." Her palms were marred with bloody half-moons where her nails had broken skin, and she was beginning to feel the effects of withdrawal. After a week of being deprived of the medications her body had grown so used to, not having them felt very much the same, she imagined, as swallowing thumbtacks with liquid brillo a cupful at a time.

The demigod looked down at her and grinned. She wanted to vomit on him.

"You look tired," he said smoothly, not moving from his place across the room. He gripped his sceptre loosely in his right hand-the blue gem glowing from use. Frustrated tears streamed from the corners of her eyes. "Tell me, is there something the matter?" She spat as far as she could in his direction.

"Adorable," he said. "But I'm afraid, meaningless. No one's here to help you. And really, I'm just having a bit of fun before I kill you."

"Unsurprising," she growled out, despite the headache. "That this is fun for you."

"Here is what will happen," Loki replied, ignoring her bitter words. "You will tell me where your friends are. Then I'm going to strip your muscles off your bones, and send you in a damp heap to Doctor Banner before I collect him." She felt herself shudder.

"Tempting," she said. "But I'm going to have to pass." Loki shrugged.

"Suit yourself. Either way, I get to kill you.

Zzt.

"_AAH_." she screamed louder, arching herself like a sine curve away from the slab. She dimly heard Loki chuckle before her body surrendered her to heavy unconsciousness.


	9. Chapter 9

**Disclaimer: I don't own _The Avengers_.**

* * *

_Bright out. Too bright._

_Bruce..._

One bare foot dragged along the broken pavement, the shoed one clomping like a hoof.

_Head hurts..._

She was too tired to go on. The street corner she turned onto would be her end, she thought, as memories trickled like sludge in her mind, making paths through the grey matter like water cuts channels in sand. The sun shining on her face, quiet evenings at home, belonging to something-and something important, at that-for the first time in her life. Her face twitched a semblance of a smile, though the ragged cheek muscle filled itself with blood again as it stretched across her back molars.

_Bruce, I'm too tired. I've got to sleep._

A reassuring embrace.

_I can't go on._

"We'll get them out." The smell of beaten leather, soft cologne and the inexplicable, ingrained scent of the lab. Overtones of formaldehyde, with a headier body of latex. The smell of unshavenness and wild hair and warmth that she'd so loved about him washed over her like a tsunami. She was choking on the tears that flooded down her face and made the scratches on her chin and neck sting.

"We'll get them out. Even if we have to get the Avengers Initiative back on track."

_I'm so sorry._

She went down hard onto the pavement and landed on her left side. Her head bounced off the curb like a basketball; teeth shattering inside the bleeding mouth. She saw stars dance in front of her eyes. Too, she knew skin-more accurately, knew when it was broken, and knew that blood was running in between her fingers. She spat her left incisor onto the street and surrendered to the inky dark of unconsciousness.

_It's just, I haven't slept in days._

* * *

Rogers didn't even bother to knock on Banner's door-simply shouldered it open with one swift, effortless motion, and swept him into a bear hug that Banner was sure was going to crack his ribs. Which was not to say that Banner wasn't happy to see Rogers. Especially after the supposed abductions of SHIELD operatives and members and associates of the Avengers Initiative, it was good to at least see a familiar face. One that had dropped off the face of the earth shortly after Loki and Thanos had taken over.

It took awhile for Rogers to get to all of that, of course, because Rogers being Rogers, he had to prove that he was still Captain America, even under external duress. First, he took it upon himself to distribute fresh bread that he'd (somehow) purloined among the patients (that particular evening: a man with a broken arm, and a mother with her ten-year-old son. The boy's chest had been filled with shrapnel after he walked too close to an explosion and the wound was badly infected. It reminded Banner, in a disheartening sort of way, of Tony.) that would sleep there that night, then decided to clean the corner that Banner had claimed for his floor-nest of a bed. And while Banner was sure he should've been pestering him about it, he was partially relieved that he wasn't facing trying to find those people food that night. And the bit of floor that he'd been sleeping on was suddenly looking particularly inviting. He'd forgotten how exhausted he was.

"Where'd you get the food?" Banner asked roughly. Rogers shrugged.

"I made it," he said; matter-of-fact rather than boastful. "I still know how to work an oven."

"With what electricity, exactly?" Banner spat back, knowing full well that he sounded angrier than he felt. Rogers winced.

"Found a place with a generator. Once I kick-started that, the rest was easy."

"Nearby?" Banner said. Rogers shook his head.

"No, all the way in Washington Heights. Seems the Superintendant was a paranoid fellow, putting a generator in a building in New York." Banner surveyed Rogers with hard brown eyes, and after a moment, sighed deeply.

"I'm sorry, Steve," Banner's voice came out cracked and tired; like an old man's. He seated himself across from the Captain, and let his head fall into his palm. "I'm just so tired." He felt Rogers' mammoth hand on his shoulder, patting just as gently as he dared. For awhile, they were relatively quiet-Rogers tracing patterns on the tabletop and Banner hooking a chair under the doorknob (a protection against the Chituari that he'd learned to take after the neighbors' door had been kicked in as naturally as a bowling ball knocking pins over).

"Where'd you go, after..." Banner wasn't sure quite how to finish that sentence. _After a demigod and an alien came to earth, irreparably damaged it, and now have the human population on the run? Good, Bruce. Your personal skills really haven't deteriorated at all, have they?_

"After...all this?" Rogers finished for him-Banner nodded gratefully. "Hiding for awhile. Not very long. Then Loki found me."

Banner was sorry for him-being hunted by Loki couldn't have been a picnic-but he felt his heart lighten at the sound of it. If he'd been taken by Loki, there was the slimmest chance he'd seen Betty...

"What happened?" Banner struggled to keep his voice calm. Rogers sighed and sat back in his chair.

"It's a bit of a blur," he said softly. "I remember a lot of light. Loki asking a lot of questions, trying to figure out if we had some big plan to avenge the earth. Somehow, he couldn't believe that, for the time being, we'd split up."

"Then what?" Banner prompted. Rogers shrugged his enormous shoulders and ran his hand through his hair.

"I woke up on the street somewhere in the one-eighties. Felt like they'd gouged out my insides. That was...around three weeks ago."

"Okay."

"Well, I picked myself up and found that building. Stayed inside for a week and a half, almost, scavenging supplies and stocking up on provisions. Then I worked my way downtown. When I heard your name mentioned, I thought I ought to find you." Banner nodded, the question burning hot in his throat.

"Did you..." he tried. He really _did_ try to get the words out. "Did you...see..."

"Who?" Rogers asked. Banner stared at him with a face full of anguish. Suddenly, he was dog sad-sick to even think of her.

"Betty." he managed. After a long moment, Rogers shook his head. Banner felt as though he'd swallowed a stone.


End file.
